


A Slight Hitch

by ssclassof56



Series: Agent Pemberley [12]
Category: The Man From U.N.C.L.E. (TV)
Genre: Gen, Hiccups
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-04-23
Updated: 2017-04-23
Packaged: 2018-10-23 04:18:22
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 774
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/10712031
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ssclassof56/pseuds/ssclassof56
Summary: Illya is irritable when a common malady prevents him from continuing a mission.





	A Slight Hitch

**Author's Note:**

> Originally posted to LiveJournal's Section7MFU - Short Affair Challenge  
> Prompts: hitch / blue

Napoleon slipped into the phone booth and eased the door shut. Through the glass he could see his quarry sitting on a stool, talking with the counter girl in a powder blue uniform. She made several notes on her pad, and Napoleon felt confident the man had settled in for a hearty lunch.  
  
He took out his communicator. “Open Channel D. Illya, come in.”  
  
“I’m here, Napoleon.” His statement was followed by an odd chirping noise.  
  
“Gilfrey is lunching at a diner on Main and 6th. How soon can you be here?”  
  
The chirping noise repeated. “That plan has developed a slight hitch.”  
  
Another voice, apparently standing farther away from the communicator, chimed in with a chuckle. “More of a hiccup, really.”  
  
Napoleon could sense his partner cut his eyes at Faustina.  
  
_Chirp._ Napoleon shook his communicator. “You’re not coming to relieve me?” he asked.  
  
“Not at the moment. It would be best if you continue with the surveillance.”  
  
“So what exactly is the hitch?”  
  
“Not hitch. Hiccup,” Faustina interjected, her amused voice now closer to the speaker.  
  
“Kindly let go of the communicator,” Illya grated at her. _Chirp, chirp._  
  
“Would someone please tell me what’s going on?”  
  
“I’ve developed a medical ailment that will prevent me from maintaining an effective surveillance.” _Chirp._  
  
“Medical ailment? Are you sick? Injured?”  
  
“No, it’s merely a synchronous diaphragmatic flutter.” _Chirp._  
  
“A what?”  
  
“He’s got the hiccups!” Faustina broke in. Napoleon covered the speaker with his hand so her peals of delighted laughter would not draw the attention of the diners.  
  
“How does this prevent you from taking your shift?” Napoleon asked when her amusement subsided. Illya would not take well to being a figure of fun, which Faustina was well aware of. He wondered why she was riding him so hard.  
  
Illya’s mounting agitation was evident in his voice. “I’ll only draw his attention, which will entirely defeat the purpose of tailing him.” _Chirp._  
  
“Yes, it’s hard to be a rock when you’re chirruping away like he’s been all morning,” Faustina said in mock sympathy. “And _kindly_ stop glaring at me, Illya. I’m on my own communicator now.”  
  
Napoleon frowned. “Well, have you tried to get rid of them?”  
  
“Of course, we’ve tried,” Illya snapped. _Chirp._ “If we were at headquarters, I could get a shot from Medical. But as we’re at this provincial hotel, I’m limited to folk remedies.”  
  
“Did you try sugar?”  
  
“Sugar, vinegar, honey, lemon. Soon I will have a sick stomach as well as hiccups.” _Chirp._  
  
“Does Faustina have any ideas?”  
  
“She’s recommended several things, as bizarre as they were ineffectual. I begin to think she’s inventing them out of whole cloth.”  
  
“I beg your pardon. Sticking your fingers in your ears stimulates the vagus nerve, and breathing with your tongue out does the same for the glottis. I can’t help that you look so priceless doing them.” She yelped. “Ow, don’t pinch. That’s going to leave a mark.”  
  
“I’ve heard a passionate kiss can end hiccups,” Napoleon suggested.  
  
“Bleh. Not after all the vinegar he drank.”  
  
“That attitude is as unhelpful as your suggestions,” Illya seethed. “I don’t think you have the best interests of this mission in mind.”  
  
“I am more than pulling my weight.” Napoleon heard a slight whine of feedback, indicating their communicators were close together. “Did I not have dinner with the very handsy Mr. Gilfrey last night? The information I brought you cost me several extremely unpleasant kisses.”  
  
“So you’re willing to kiss that Козёл Gilfrey for the good of the mission, but not me.”  
  
Napoleon sighed. When Russian started working its way in, things were going downhill fast.  
  
“This has nothing to do with me. If you hadn’t wolfed down that massive breakfast, you wouldn’t have hiccups in the first place.”  
  
Napoleon stuck his communicator under his arm as their argument increased in fervor and volume, pulling it out when silence finally reigned.  
  
“Napoleon?” Are you there?” Illya asked.  
  
“Yes.”  
  
“I am fit for duty again. I’ll be at the diner in fifteen minutes.”  
  
“What happened?”  
  
“The physiological effects of my anger caused the spasms to cease.”  
  
Napoleon grinned, realizing the method to Faustina’s madness. “So she made you lose your temper, and your hiccups stopped.”  
  
“In a word, yes.” Illya continued in a chastened tone, presumably addressing Faustina. “I apologize for the things I said.”  
  
“You can make it up to me later.” The humor had returned to her voice. “Now, go be a lamppost or a mailbox or whatever you please.”  
  
Napoleon closed his communicator, shaking his head over the strange little episode. He reached to open the phone booth door. _Chirp._ “Oh, no.”


End file.
